Page 56 of My Bloody Valentine

Before I change my mind.

I clutch my bundle of clothes to my chest and force myself to move forward. One foot in front of the other. Away from Adrian. Away from the wickedness that calls to me.

I fumble with the buttons of my blouse, fingers trembling as I dress in the dim hallway. Every shadow makes me jump, expecting Adrian to materialize and drag me back. The fabric clings to my skin, still damp with sweat from our encounter.

The boutique’s lights are on as I creep downstairs. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of someone behind the counter—a young woman in the signature Vale’s Chocolate apron arranging displays.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her face. “Oh! Can I help you?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’m... a friend of Adrian’s.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Oh, right.” She nods, returning to her work. If only she knew what was happening upstairs, what kind of man signed her paychecks.

My legs shake as I push through the front door. The Chicago wind hits me like a slap, whipping my hair around my face. Traffic rumbles past, ordinary people living ordinary lives. Was it really just days ago that I was one of them?

I wrap my arms around myself, but the chill goes deeper than my skin. The marks Adrian left throb beneath my clothes, reminding me of what I’m running from.

The streetlights flicker on as dusk settles over the city. I should be relieved. I should be running to the nearest police station. Instead, I stand frozen on the sidewalk, torn between freedom and the magnetic pull of Adrian Vale.

A group of laughing women passes by, the scent of their perfume mixing with the lingering smell of chocolate from the boutique. My stomach churns. How can I return to normal life when I know what exists in the shadows? When part of me craves it?

I drive myself to take a step, then another. Away from the boutique. Away from Adrian. But with each step, the question echoes louder—am I escaping or prolonging the inevitable?

My legs burn as I hurry down familiar streets toward Amelia’s apartment. Every car that passes makes me flinch, expecting Adrian’s sleek black vehicle to pull up beside me. The evening air bites through my thin blouse, but I welcome the cold. It helps clear my head.

Three blocks. Two. One. I press Amelia’s buzzer and rub my palms together nervously. The wait feels endless until her voice crackles through the speaker.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Maya. Please let me up.”

The door buzzes, and I slip inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Amelia stands in her doorway, her face a mix of relief and anger.

“Where the hell have you been?” She pulls me into a crushing hug. “I’ve been texting you for days! I was about to file a missing person report!”

Inside her apartment, the familiar scent of paint and coffee wraps around me like a security blanket. Amelia’s latest canvas, bold streaks of red and black, stands half-finished on her easel.

“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “Adrian... he got possessive and controlling. He took my phone and kept me isolated.”

Amelia’s eyes widen. “That chocolatier you were seeing? The one with the fancy boutique?”

I nod, sinking onto her worn leather couch. “He’s not who I thought he was.”

“Did he hurt you?” Her artist’s hands flutter around me, checking for visible injuries.

“No.” The lie slides easily off my tongue. How can I explain the truth? That his marks on my body were invited, even begged for? “He just... wouldn’t let me leave. Kept saying we belonged together.”

“Jesus, Maya.” Amelia disappears into her kitchen, returning with a steaming mug of tea. “You need to report him.”

I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, avoiding her eyes. “I just want to forget it happened.”

I cradle the mug of coffee, letting the warmth seep into my trembling fingers. She settles beside me on the couch, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Maya, you have to report this. He kidnapped you.”

The coffee burns my tongue as I take a drink, buying time. How can I explain that it’s more complicated than that? Somewhere between the terror and pleasure, I discovered a part of myself I never knew existed?

“I can’t.” The words come out barely above a whisper.

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